


Queerin' Up the John Hughes Universe

by Sedaris



Category: Ferris Bueller's Day Off (1986), The Breakfast Club (1985)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-26 17:31:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sedaris/pseuds/Sedaris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brian hooks up with Cameron in the closet at Sloane's party, and his friends will not leave him alone about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bender and Claire

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I'm writing this. I'm a mess of a human being. I blame Eliza (as always). She's an enabler

Bender was the first to find out.

They were sitting in the back of an abandoned pickup truck in the junkyard by Bender's house, Bender smoking cheap pot from a tightly-rolled joint, Brian trying very hard to not  look around for adults.

 "So, like, you do know you're the only virgin left, right?" He'd asked Brian,  in that tone that somehow managed to sound bored and patronizingly mocking at the same time. 

It didn't really bother Brian anymore that Bender talked to him like that. Bender was incapable of being warm or friendly, he'd never learned how. He didn't tread lightly — he was loud and angry and bombastic, and even if Brian didn't like it, he could at least sort of respect it. If that's what got Bender through living with his nightmare of a family, then hey, Brian was just happy he'd gotten through it at all. 

But damn him if he thought he'd take the bait.

"If that's your way of telling me that you and Claire finally did it, then mazel tov, I'll send flowers to the appropriate addresses." 

Bender rubbed the back of his neck, but Brian still saw the little flush that managed to creep up whenever he thought about Claire. "Yeah, smartass, this past Saturday. Her parents went out dinner with some other rich fucks, and we screwed on the couch."

"Not in her bed?"

"Nah, her room is too damn pink. It's impossible to get a hard-on in there."

"I've seen her couch though, it's not exactly the most erotic setting."

"It is when she's on it." 

Brian's hand flew to his heart, and he swooned exaggeratedly. "Why, John, what a sweet and charming thing to say." 

Bender shoved him. "Fuck off," he said, smirking around his joint. 

"Really, though, I'm happy for you. For both of you."

Bender looked at him critically, eyes squinting. "Why the hell would it make YOU happy that I was fucking somebody? Especially Claire."

Brian scoffed, giving him his best are-you-really-this-stupid-and-emotionally-stunted look. "Because you guys are happy, and you're my friends. I like it when my friends are happy."

Bender rolled his eyes and started to say something undoubtedly cocky and hurtful when Brian cut him off, something registering in his brain. "Wait, why'd you say 'especially Claire'?" 

Bender looked down, a vague expression of discomfort briefly passing over his features. His face immediately returned to its usual steely look, and he answered, "Well, you know. 'Cause you used to wanna fuck her."

Brian nearly fell off the back of the truck. "I never wanted to fuck Claire!" He sputtered, eyes wide with surprise. 

Bender just rolled his eyes. "Oh, yeah, you did."

"Why would you think that? Does she think that?"

"Back in detention, when I asked if you were a virgin, you didn't want Claire to know. You wanted her to think you were a stud. Which, hello, Brainiac, she might be vain, but she ain't stupid." 

Brian huffed a laugh, slumping against the back of the pickup. "That had nothing to do with wanting to fuck her. I just...I thought she was gonna make fun of me. I mean, I thought you would, too, but I could deal with that, because you always make fun of people. But Claire had never said a word to me, and I...I just didn't want her to be mean, and I sorta thought she would be, if she knew."

Bender leaned back next to him, nodding. "I guess that wasn't an issue with Freak and Jock, huh?"

Brian shook his head. "Ally didn't have any friends. She wasn't exactly in a position to judge me for lacking experience in any kind of human interaction. And Andrew had a reputation for being a pretty nice guy." 

And now those two were fucking, and Brian had never seen two people crazier about each other. A few weeks back, he and Ally had been drinking terrible wine under her grandmother's deck, and she told him that she was thinking about proposing to Andy after graduation. She told him not to tell any of the others, so he hadn't. It was funny, how different life was after that one damn detention. 

Bender took an obnoxiously long drag on the joint, holding the smoke until his eyes watered and he was coughing up curly white wisps. "So, does it bother you?" He asked, voice now hoarse.

"Does what bother me?"

"Being the virgin."

Brian closed his eyes, thinking. Thinking about if he really trusted Bender, if he thought Bender would hurt him if he knew something important, if he was even willing to definitively find out the answers to those questions.

If there was one thing that Bender said to him during their five months of friendship often enough to be considered a motif, it was that he thought that Brian really, really needed to stop being such a pussy. 

"I don't tell you everything, you know." 

Bender's jaw dropped in shock, and the joint fell out of his mouth. His head whirled around to face Brian, his expression a mix of disbelief, surprise, and a tiny bit of stifled hurt. 

"What do you mean, you sayin' you boned somebody without tellin' me? Nah. No way. I ain't buyin' it." 

Brian turned his chin up, staring at the sky, as if any kind of heavenly deity could have possibly made this conversation easy. "I...it's kind of a big thing, okay?" 

"Damn right it's a big thing." Bender's guard slipped a little bit, and Brian could tell that Bender was genuinely upset at the thought that he didn't tell him about losing his virginity. Bender just didn't get it.

"You don't get it."

"No, I guess I don't." He stood up then, climbing out of the car. "And I'm sure you've got some real smart explanation that a retard like me couldn't possibly understand."

"Bender, stop it, it's not like that."

"Whatever, Brainiac, fuck you. Do whatever you want, you don't gotta tell me shit." He started walking away, and Brian sighed heavily.

"Friday before last, a guy gave me a blowjob in a closet at that party we went to for Claire's friend." 

Bender stopped dead in his tracks, and it was a full minute before he turned around. "Excuse me?" 

"I didn't tell anybody about it." He said, in a voice that was considerably smaller. 

Bender crossed his arms over his chest. "So, what does that make you then, a faggot? Is that what you're telling me?"

"If that's what you wanna call it." Brian kind of felt like throwing up. 

Bender just stood there like that, looking at him,  before wordlessly turning around and leaving. 

\-----------------

Brian didn't see him for the rest of the weekend, and he didn't see him Monday morning. He was in the cafeteria, grabbing a carton of questionably-aged milk, when one of Andrew's old jock friends knocked into his shoulder as he walked by. "Queer." He tossed in Brian's direction, before turning back to talk to his teammates. 

None of them had a chance to register the plaid blur that ran by until the jock was on the floor, Bender beating the ever living shit out of him. 'Does he even have lunch sixth period?' Brian wondered, distantly. The jock, recovering from the surprise of the attack, threw a hard punch at Bender's jaw. Bender grabbed the tray from the table and whacked the jock across the face with it, audibly snapping the old plastic. Two teachers burst into the room then, running to pry the boys apart. 

Brian stared at Bender as he was hauled off to the principal's office, and in return he received a very wide, very bloody grin.

In that moment, Brian Johnson knew no matter how long he lived, that he was never going to find better friends than the ones he had right now. 

\---------------

Claire was the second person to find out.

She showed up on his doorstep that night, manicured hands in the pockets of her miniskirt. She gave him a small smile when she saw was that it was him who answered the door. 

"Can I come in?" She asked, and he stepped aside, closing the door behind her. They sat on the floor in his room, the radio providing Top 40 background noise.

"You wanna talk about what happened today?" She said, after a long time. 

He laid down, crossing his arms behind his head. "Your boyfriend got suspended for me."

She looked at the floor, a slight flush teasing her cheeks. "I know. I was really proud of him."  
She sighed then, drawing her knees up. "He told me why, too. As soon as he said it, I knew that he shouldn't have, that you should have been the one to tell me about it. If you wanted to, I mean."

He sighed too, letting his sleepy eyelids fall closed. "There's not much to tell, really. I got a blowjob in a closet. And, okay, I didn't tell Bender this part, but I gave him a handjob too. Both felt great. It's not exactly a Pulitzer-worthy story."

He didn't open his eyes, but he could hear the eye-roll in her voice. "Of course there's more to it, there's a lot to wonder. But you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. Just, wait, okay, it was Sloane's party, right?" Brian nodded tiredly.

"So it was Cameron Frye, wasn't it?" 

Brian opened his eyes, startled. "How'd you know?"

Claire smiled, a bit self-satisfactory. "He's always come off that way to me. Like, he's so afraid of everything all the time, but he still wants to please everybody else. He's just, I don't know! It's like he knows who he is, but he's scared of it. You know?" 

Brian nodded, a little sad. He did know. "Yeah. Yeah, I know what you mean."

Claire hugged him, then, which was kind of weird, because they never hugged before. "I'm happy for you." She said, face pressed into his hair a little bit. 

He drew back quickly. "Tell Bender that that is a totally appropriate response to finding out that your friend has had sex, and it's not weird at all to be happy for somebody else when they get laid." 

She looked at him strangely then and, yeah, there we go, that's much more familiar than the hugging. 


	2. Allison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison totally knew all along that Brian was gay, because she has five gay uncles, so she can tell. 
> 
> She's not lying. Really.

"Are you gay?"

Brian and Allison were laying under a large wrought iron sculpture in the park, sticking gum and stickers and pieces of a sandwich to the underside of it. It had been Ally's idea, obviously — she liked her art as grungy and unsanitary as possible. He lolled his head over in the grass slowly, raising his eyes to look at her. She was staring at a blank spot of metal,  trying to figure out how best to decorate it, before deciding to fill it with a little bit of mayo-covered lettuce and a Scooby Doo sticker. 

"What gave it away?"

She shrugged, still inspecting the sculpture. "I have five gay uncles. It's in my blood. I could sniff you out."

Brian had known Ally for long enough now to tell exactly when she was lying. "You're lying."

She shrugged again, picking up a stick to paint a figure that vaguely looked like Janis Joplin out of mustard. "Claire let it slip while she was teaching me how to dye my hair Tuesday night. She felt bad about it right away, which is good, because that's a pretty rotten thing to say about somebody. Even if it's true. That's private." 

Brian nodded. Of course Claire had told. He wasn't that mad, though — if there had been anyone that he would have felt alright telling, it was Allison. He'd even thought about it a couple of times, times like this where it was just them, but it had never really felt right. 

"Anyway, aren't you scared of catching the gay cancer?" She continued, as if that was the natural place for their conversation to go. 

"What?" Brian startled, jaw slackening in surprise. 

"You know. That thing that kills gay men when they're young. It's happening all over."

Brian shook his head. "I'm not worried. I figure...I tried to end things myself once, you know? And I didn't. I have a hard time imagining any kind of weird gay cancer getting me." 

She did one of her odd laugh-barks then, just once, before flinging her arm out to grasp his hand. She squeezed it, and he squeezed back, quickly, before dropping it. They laid back like that for a long while, in quiet, companionable silence, checking out their masterpiece of swirling baloney sub and Hanna-Barbera sticker collection. 


	3. It Happened that Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's actually take a look at what happened at that party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blah blah blah, I blame Eliza, blah blah blah all her fault, blah blah blah I hate (love) that little nugget girl. NOW. I'm writing this without a beta reader, so if anyone is interested, hit up the comment section! We'll talk.

It was a testament to Claire Standish's unmatched power of persuasion that she'd gotten everybody to go to that party. 

"She's a good friend of mine, you guys, we went to junior high together. And her boyfriend is cool, and there will be beer, and we've never all gone to a party together."

"That's not true, Claire. Remember Ally's birthday?" Brian offered from where he was laying under the bleachers, eating jellybeans out of a plastic bag. 

She swung her legs over the metal railing, hanging semi-upside-down to get a better look at him. "That's different. We THREW that, so it doesn't count." She didn't add the fact that they'd sort of been the only ones to show up. 

"Listen, babe, nobody but you knows this chick. And anyway, she sounds like a preppy bimbo." Bender was, as per usual, lighting up a cigarette. Claire leaned up and ripped it out of his hand angrily, throwing it to the ground. Brian rolled over to avoid being hit, and, a tad spastically, ground out the little flame with the heel of his gym sneaker. 

"Sloane is NOT a bimbo. I said she was cool, alright, so she's cool. She's my friend. My GOOD friend. I thought you guys trusted me."

"We do trust you, Claire," Andrew said, pausing from his push-ups. "But you aren't asking us to trust you, you're asking us to go to a party with you. Don't turn it into some kind of test. That isn't fair." He sat up then, rolling his neck and stretching. 

"Fine, then I'm asking you to trust me when I say that you'll have a good time." 

Everyone was quiet for a long moment, the sound of tennis shoes pounding on the outdoor track echoing across the grounds. 

"You said there was beer?" Ally finally asked, talking for the first time all period. 

Claire smiled, wide and red-lipped.  "Yeah. Maybe rum, too, since it's a special occasion." 

"Then I'm in." 

Claire threw an arm around her. "Thank you, Ally! You'll like her, I promise. Ferris, too. He's a sweetheart...sometimes. Once you get to know him." 

Brian crossed his arms behind his head, considering. "You know, I've never had rum. Or beer. Or any alcohol, for that matter. A room full of strange, popular teenagers is as good a place as any to get first-time drunk, I guess." 

Bender rolled his eyes dramatically. "Jesus Christ, Johnson." 

"That's Brainiac Johnson, to you." 

Andrew laughed, shaking his head a little. "You know, what the hell. A party's a party, right? It can't be that bad. I'm sure you're right, Claire, we'll have a good time."

All eyes went to Bender, who met their expectant expressions with a cold fix of his I-swear-to-God-I-will-fuck-each-of-you-up-I-don't-care-that-you're-my-best-friends stare. Claire sighed, sat up straight, and leaned over to whisper something in his ear. The other three watched as his face actually flushed and oh, lord, did Brian wish he had a camera right now, before Bender dropped his eyes and muttered something about being pussy-whipped. 

That was how the five of them wound up in Sloane Peterson's house that Friday — Claire in a pink minidress, Bender in a flannel that looked like it had seen better days, Allison in some kind of shapeless black...thing, Andrew in jeans and his letterman jacket, and Brian in, of all things, a dress shirt and tie. 

"Cute, Brainiac, real cute." Bender had sniggered, his arm around Claire's waist. She punched his side and he winced, though Brian thought that was probably mostly for show. 

"I think you look really nice, Brian." She said gently. 

"Me too," Andrew added, Allison nodding by his side. "Yeah," she agreed, "like a congressman or a used car salesmen."

Brian adjusted his tie self-consciously. "Thanks, guys." He felt overdressed. It was just that he'd never met Sloane, and he was a guest in her house. Furthermore, she was Claire's friend, and it was only right that he try to make a good impression. 

They'd stuck together for the first bit of the night, but as the party went on and their blood alcohol levels increased, they began to splinter off their separate ways. Bender was passed out by eleven, nine shots of rum and four beers under his belt. Ally and Andrew had been furiously making out in the corner, precariously close to a fragile, expensive-looking lamp. The shatter sounded throughout the house, and for a moment, everybody paused. Sloane immediately assured them that it was completely fine, and as they cleaned up, the guests all went back to their conversations and drinking. She and Andrew made small talk as they picked up bits of glass, hitting it off immediately — popular kids tend to gravitate towards each other. Ally left to bother the pimply kid who served as the party's DJ, and Claire abandoned her boyfriend's unconscious side to join Andrew and Sloane. Ferris and Cameron, sensing a clique forming, sidled over to them. 

It was, all in all, looking like a promising evening.

                           ---------------------------------------------------

Brian was absolutely, positively, with a doubt NOT staring.

Nope. Uh-uh. Staring wasn't his style.

Alright, so maybe it wasn't his style, but he was definitely doing it anyway. It was just that the guy that Claire and Andrew were talking to was so tall, okay, he stuck out. And his eyes were so blue, unusually so, it's not as if Brian could be blamed for noticing. He wasn't muscular, per se, but he was notably fit, his chest spreading out under his well-fitting black t-shirt. 

He was nice to look at. So Brian looked.

He kept glancing up at him over the rim of his red plastic cup, sipping the beer ("You don't sip it, Braniac, booze wasn't made for sipping. You ain't a princess at a tea party," Bender had chastised him, pre-blackout) and trying very hard to not dwell on the fact that Tall Slim and Handsome would sometimes catch his eye when he glanced, and the look he gave him wasn't disapproving. It was almost...teasing, though that wasn't quite it, because it was extremely brief and laced with caution and nerves. But it didn't matter, because when those ice blue eyes were fixed on his, even if only for a fraction of a second, an electric current spread all the way through Brian's body that made him want to throw his beer across the room and go home and lay in his bed forever, until his corpse decomposed into a pile of high-strung, undersexed ashes. Here lies Brian, too queer for this world. 

Unbeknownst to him, Andrew caught him looking. He didn't just catch him — he understood, and he immediately knew that he had to make Brian talk to Cameron. 

Brian was one of his best friends— Hell, he was one of the best people Andrew knew, period. He'd always thought it was a little odd that Brian never seemed to date anyone — he wasn't popular, sure, but everybody knew he was smart. Girls liked smart guys. Well, some did. Enough did, at least, that Brian could have found somebody to make his girlfriend, were he so inclined. He wasn't, it would seem, if the way he was obviously failing at trying not to ogle Cameron was anything to go on. 

Andrew didn't have a problem with gay people. Allison had five gay uncles, though she was probably lying about that. It was just that his unendingly empathetic nature meant that he was immediately struck with pity for Brian, a million reasons why this had to suck for him flooding his slightly-inebriated mind. He couldn't just come up and flirt with Cameron like he probably wanted to, like Andrew could have done with any of these girls before Allison came along.

Being in the position he was, how could he NOT introduce Brian to Cameron? What kind of friend would he be? 

"Cameron! There's somebody I wanna introduce you to. A friend of ours," he gestured between himself and Claire, "Brian. Good sense of humor. Bad parents. You'll love him." He led Cameron towards Brian, where he was doing a bad job of looking like a guy that wasn't internally freaking out over the fast approach of Tall Slim and Handsome. Andrew shot a quick look over to where Claire and Ferris were still talking, and if they had any clue at all as to what Andrew was doing, they showed no sign of it whatsoever. 

"Brian, this is Cameron, one of Sloane's friends. He's cool, I think you guys'd get on well."  He left then, hoping that Brian could take care of himself at this point. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More chapters to come (somehow I became the kind of person who would write a mulitchapter Brian/Cameron fic, which might actually be the first of its kind?????). I know I suck for ending it before the sexy stuff happens, I just GOTTA SIKE MYSELF UP FOR WRITING THAT, okay? Smut requires a very specific frame of mind. A certain level of zen, if you will. But that will be up soon, I promise. Maybe I'll do some gay meditation. Of course, if you guys want it up even sooner, kudos and bookmarks are always excellent motivators.


	4. The Party, But the SEXY Part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I finally got around to writing what actually happened in that closet at Sloane's house party (It was sex. Sex happened).

After a beat of awkward silence, Cameron broke the ice with a sincere "I like your outfit."

Brian looked down at his black dress shirt, tie, and slacks. "I just came from a funeral," he deadpanned. 

Cameron raised the corner of his mouth in a half-smile as he took a sip of his beer. "Oh?" he asked, smacking his lips. "Whose?"

"My dignity's. Apparently, Andrew doesn't think that I can talk to people on my own."

Cameron leaned against a cabinet. "I'm sure it was a lovely service, but I think you could probably handle yourself just fine."

"I really can't," Brian said honestly, "though with all the time I have to spend on overdressing for parties and mourning the loss of my virtues, I guess I just haven't had the opportunity to practice good social skills." 

Cameron's smile was fuller this time, and he even laughed a little. "I don't know, Brian, you've got a red Solo cup full of disgustingly cheap alcohol and one of your friends is passed out on the host's couch. Sounds like pretty standard party etiquette to me."

Brian shrugged, moving to stand next to him against the cabinet. "Just a fast learner. I've been taking notes all night."

"Me too. You wanna compare?" 

Brian grinned, pantomiming flipping through a journalist's notepad. "Let's see. So far, I've got: destroy personal property in the name of getting hot action,  force your friends to actually talk to nice, living human beings, and jam as many hairspray-clad teens into one house as physically and legally possible." 

Cameron nodded. "Sounds about right, though you left out some adjectives. Just 'nice,' 'living,' and 'human'? Is that all I have going for me? Because I may have peppered in, oh, I don't know, a 'handsome' or 'charming,' or 'graceful as an eagle,' maybe."

"I didn't know that eagles were known for their grace."

"Oh, yeah. Totally. They have other things going on besides patriotism, you know." His eyes drifted down Brian's well-dressed form, and Brian preened, just a bit, standing up straighter. Eyes that blue should have been cold, but they were nothing if not warm. "So, parents?" Cameron inquired, gaze settling back on Brian's face.

"Yeah. Parents. You need them to change your diapers a couple of times and they think they own you forever. Which, come on, it can't be that easy to own someone. It seems like there should be some kind of secret exchange of money, or, like, black magic." 

"Well, those are always options, but I think having kids is just easier."

"It's not as moral, though."

"Parenthood is more immoral than black magic?"

"Oh, sure, absolutely. Black magic is an art, or something. Parenthood is just sad."

"Art has a reputation for being sad."

"But when it gets too sad, you can leave it for happier art. You can't really abandon your kid when you realize that you're actually a pretty shitty parent."

"My dad did."

Brian felt his stomach drop. "I'm so sorry."  
   
Cameron waved his hand. "I mean, he's still here, he's still around. He's just not really...there, ya know? He's had maybe four legitimate conversations with me since I was eight years old. "

Brian nodded in comprehension. "I get that. I've had more conversations than that with my parents, but a good ninety percent of them were criticisms, so. You can't pick your parents, I guess."

"If you could though, who would you choose?"

Brian let his head thunk against the wall, thinking. "Hm. I don't know. You go first." 

"The parents from 'Little House on the Prairie'."

That was unexpected. Brian liked that, for some reason. "Wait, really?" 

Cameron stretched, and a little bit of stomach poked out from under his raised hemline. Brian had to physically force himself not to stare at it. 

"Yeah, man. They worked real hard for their kids. The dad built a whole cabin for them, all by himself. And Laura grew up to be a writer, which, I mean...I am extremely impressed by anything any woman did before people decided to maybe try and not be complete jackasses to them all the time. I'm impressed with her parents by extension."

"Makes sense."

"So, who would you pick?"

"Well, see, I think that for my dad, I'd want Abraham Lincoln. Because he's my favorite president, like, he wasn't afraid to do stuff differently when he knew it was for the greater good. He broke a lot of rules to make sure that people got what they deserved. But I wouldn't want Mary Todd for my mom, because she was nuts, and my real-life mom is already nuts."

"So, your ideal home-life would be Single Father Abraham Lincoln, then."

"Basically. Yeah, I like that. That sounds good."

They talked like that for hours, easy and not-flirting-but-definitely-flirting, when Cameron fondly said, "You know, you're a pretty cool person, Brian Johnson."

Brian meant to stammer some kind of thanks, but what came out instead was, "Do you wanna go outside for a walk or something?" And, wait, woah. Where the hell had THAT come from?

 

"Y-Yeah," Cameron said, visibly surprised, as Brian started to realize the possible implications of what he'd just asked, "A walk. Sure. Just lemme grab my jacket, I think Sloane put it  in the closet." 

They made their way over to the hallway with the coat closet, pushing and shoving through a thick sea of heavily-makeuped, slightly sweaty high schoolers. 

"It's probably in the back," Cameron called over the music, as he flipped through row after row of coats that were not his, some obviously too small, others far more bedazzled and pink than Brian thought Cameron would probably own. His expression grew frustrated as he reached the end, and he exasperatedly shifted the hangers back to start sorting through again from the beginning. "I'm positive I saw her put it here," he huffed. 

"What'd look like?" 

"Black. Zipper, no buttons."

It was as vague a description as he could have offered, and Brian probably would have said something sarcastic then, had Cameron been literally anybody else. However, because it seemed as though the universe hated Brian more than any other person who had ever dared to inhabit it, it had made Cameron too tall and too handsome and too funny and too likable for him to do anything besides flounder helplessly and start looking for a black jacket with a zipper, not buttons. 

He'd started from the opposite end, and because he and Cameron sorted through the coats at a mostly equal pace, they met in the middle with an unexpected brush of arms. Brian felt his face heat up like an electric iron at the direct skin-on-skin contact, and he found himself cursing his entirely Irish background, because now Cameron was staring at him in a way that indicated that he definitely noticed the blush. Instead of ignoring it, or looking away politely, or just walking away from the closet and Brian's flustered self altogether, he kept his eyes trained on Brian's, slowly closing the door. 

He stepped forward hesitantly, clearly waiting for Brian to give him some kind of signal that this was okay, that he was reading the situation correctly. Brian's brain was torn between wanting to shout "YES, OF COURSE, PLEASE," and "ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR GODDAMN MIND, WE CAN'T, WE COULD NEVER, BUT ESPECIALLY NOT HERE, WHERE ANYONE COULD COME IN AND THEY'D SEE, THEY'D KNOW." 

People always talk about sex like it's something that you absolutely need — they even call it that a lot of the time, "needs", as though it were equal to food or shelter or medicine. Unfaithful men and women since the dawn of time have claimed that their cheating was a necessity, that they were totally unable to let their attraction to their lovers go unresolved. Teenage boys talk about blueballs as though it were a terminal affliction bestowed upon them by an angry deity, rather than their young, abstinent girlfriends. Nobody understands what a crock of horseshit all this is better than queer people, and Brian knew that succumbing to his desires would be more of a testament to his own weakness and stupidity than the strength of his libido. Queer people understand that no, you do not, in fact, need to have sex, ever, and that it is often, actually, incredibly unwise to do so. Queer people do not get to need to have sex. Queer people are not allowed to get caught up in romantic spontaneity. Queer people do not get to let their physical desires take precedence over their common sense. These things are all heterosexual fabrications, privileged only to them.

Which is why Brian knew he should yell the second thing.

That is not, however, what Brian did.

What he did instead was remain completely quiet and still, his face growing ever redder, so that he imagined that he resembled a very un-sexy tomato. His blush and silence were enough for Cameron, who leaned down, then, pressing his lips gently against Brian's, the contact sweet and careful. 

Brian's heart beat so hard that he was pretty sure it was about fling itself out of his ribcage and hit Cameron right in his beautiful face. It would be embarrassing, but Brian would almost definitely be dead anyway, so he supposed it wouldn't really matter — as long as his mourning parents thought that heart-flinging-itself-out-of-chest was a symptom of a perfectly normal deadly illness and was not, in fact, the product of the most romantic moment of Brian's life hitting him full force. 

He opened his mouth a little to deepen the kiss, effectively sealing his fate as both weak AND stupid but also very, very excited. Cameron responded to this with enthusiasm, letting one hand wander into Brian's hair, the other gripping his hip, pulling him in closer. Cameron's fingers played with the strands at the nape of his neck, and the fronts of their jeans rubbed together dangerously, allowing Brian to realize that he could feel how hard Cameron was, knowing that there was no way that Cameron wasn't feeling him right back. 

That's when Brian Ralph Johnson lost his motherfucking mind. 

He pushed Cameron to the back of the closet, which he shouldn't (and usually wouldn't) have been able to do, except that the action caught both of them off guard. He pulled the coats in front of them, because even though the door was locked, hiding was still safest. He moved his mouth to Cameron's smooth neck, which was easy with the height difference. He sucked hard and slow, bruising the tender skin there. Cameron let his head hang down, his warm, shuddery breath tickling Brian's ear, sending a shiver down his spine. He let his hand trail down Cameron's flat stomach until his fingers were just resting under the top of his waistband, and he let them linger there until he felt Cameron nod quickly against his shoulder. He thrust his hand down Cameron's pants then, feeling,  for the first time, a cock that was not his own, both alien and reassuringly familiar. He could only do what he knew he himself liked after several years of late-night jerk-offs in his bedroom, always trying not to focus on the images of James Dean and Cary Grant that floated into his mind, always disappointed when his dick went soft after trying to think about the actresses and models he knew were popular. 

It was really strange, Brian thought, how you can think about something for years and years, dream about it, want it with every self-hating and shameful cell in your body, and when you finally do get it, it still feels like everything's happening head-spinningly fast. 

Cameron seemed to like Brian's technique just fine, bucking his hips into Brian's hand as he fingered the head. He kissed Brian's temple, just a quick peck, and Brian almost stopped, because, just, wow. He didn't have any experience whatsoever, but he suspected that that was not a thing that happened all the time, that it was probably a Cameron-specific thing, and Brian didn't think he'd ever liked someone quite so much in such a short period of time. 

This was what Bender meant when he would call Brian a sap. 

Cameron came into his palm after less than two minutes of Brian jacking him off, and Brian knew that he probably didn't get much action, either. And what a shame that was, Brian thought, that nobody but him got to see how gorgeous Cameron looked when he was flushed and panting and looking at him like he'd just cured him of blindness or leprosy or some other Biblically important disease. Cameron pulled down his shirt to cover the dark stain in his jeans, and Brian wiped his hand off on one of the uglier coats in the closet. That was rude, he knew, but he  rationalized that it probably belonged to a person who got to do amazing sexual things like this on the regular, so fuck them and their ugly coat. Just then, Cameron dropped to his knees. 

"You lose somethin'?" Brian asked, stooping next to him. He started looking around on the floor for a wallet, or maybe a pack of cigarettes. Cameron look at him quizzically before laughing, harder and harder by the second, so that he had tears pricking the crinkled corners of his unfairly blue eyes. Brian was mortified, because even though he didn't know exactly why Cameron was laughing, it was clearly at him, and that was pretty shitty. 

Cameron's laughter petered out enough that he could look at Brian and see that he hadn't caught on to what was happening. His expression shifted from amused to nervous in about .3 seconds, and his chuckle now had a slightly hysterical edge to it. "I'm...no, sorry, Brian, I wasn't laughing at you, I swear. I'm just....just worse at this than I thought, I guess. I, uh...I was gonna..." He gestured from his kneeling position to Brian's crotch area. "I mean, I never did it before, and I guess I should have asked, but. Do you want me to?"

Brian was suddenly reminded of being seven years old at an amusement park with his parents, staring up at Thunder Mountain, and being so scared and so excited that he threw up BEFORE he ever got on the ride. 

Cameron took his hand and pulled him back up into a standing position, leaning his forehead against Brian's.

"D...do YOU want to?" Brian responded quietly, eyes trained on Cameron's soft pink lips. 

Cameron's voice was low and scratchy. "Yeah." 

He lowered himself back to the floor and unbuttoned Brian's pants. "You ready?" He asked, which Brian thought was a little weird, because, like, shouldn't he have been the one to ask Cameron that? He just nodded, and Cameron nodded back, pulling out Brian's dick. He just kind of looked at it for a minute, not sizing it up, exactly, just taking it in. He gave an imperceptible shrug, mostly to himself, before opening his mouth wide and enveloping Brian's cock. 

It felt so good and seemed like such a heavy thing to Brian that he kind of understood why it used to be illegal. Every swish of Cameron's tongue sent a shock of sensation all the way up Brian's spine, and he could feel each and every hair on his flushed body stand on end. His hands found their way into Cameron's hair, tangling it, tugging on its roots, as if he wanted him to feel everything just as much as he did. He loved this, he loved each of the thirty thousand feelings that were flowing from Cameron's mouth to every one of his nerves, but it was also so, so much, and it meant a lot of things — some of them good, some not at all. It was equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. 

It was all over quickly, of course, though he'd had time to pull out and release in the low corner of the closet, which he privately thought was pretty impressive aiming. Especially considering the fact that his eyes were still a little crossed. 

He shoved his now-limp dick back into his dress pants, and he looked at Cameron, now incredibly and inexplicably shy. "I know this is kinda out of order, but could I maybe get your phone number?"

Cameron's lip quirked into a little smile, and he fished around in the pockets of the coats until he found a bubblegum wrapper and a pen. He scribbled a number and placed it into Brian's open hand, but Cameron jerked it back away before he had the chance to close his fingers around it. 

"This is not my number," he explained, "my parents have cut me off from all outside contact since I wrecked my dad's car. Officially, I'm at home in bed right now. This is Ferris's number." He dropped the wrapper into Brian's hand again, letting him take it this time. "You call him when you wanna talk to me, and me and him'll find a way for me to get over to his house, and we'll talk. Okay?" 

"Okay." Brian answered, pocketing the wrapper carefully, letting his thumb brush over it affectionately. 

Neither of them moved for a minute, unwilling to leave the shared space they'd found for themselves. But then, somebody started jiggling hard on the handle, and they silently agreed that it was time to go. 

"Why were you guys locked in the closet?" The door-jiggler asked, suspicious. 

"We were looking for a jacket," Cameron called over his shoulder, as he and Brian headed back towards where they came from. 

"Hey!" Claire shouted over the party noise, motioning them over to her. "Brian, where'd you go? You're my ride home. I need you to help me load Bender into the car." 

She took his elbow gently and led him away. Brian looked over his shoulder at Cameron, who batted his eyelashed and mouthed "Call me!" while making an exaggerated, theatrical  imitation of a phone with his hand. Brian's reply was an overly cheesy wink-and-finger-gun combination, and it was really lucky that his friends were all either too oblivious or drunk to notice how disgustingly flirty they were being. 

Then again, it still would have been worth it. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm continuing this thing, god help me. Kudos are appreciated, as always, because I need to be convinced that writing this pairing isn't rock bottom for a human teenager.


End file.
